


The Tower

by lilyeverlasting



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/F, Fade to Black, Future Fic, Hostage Situations, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Not Beta Read, Royalty, Scenting, Suggestive Themes, edited after posting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-04-03 17:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyeverlasting/pseuds/lilyeverlasting
Summary: 3 years after Horde Prime's appearance, Glimmer is still Prime's most important hostage as a rebel army slowly gains traction. To survive, you have to play the game, and Glimmer's only ally-and friend-is the last person she ever thought she'd grow close to. Oneshot.
Relationships: Catra/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 100





	The Tower

“Have you seen the Etherian queen? I've heard talk of Brother requesting her presence at his last war council.”

“It won’t last. _She _won’t last. Not much longer.”

“You don’t suppose-?”

“_Hush_.” 

Their shadows congeal, then split apart like an atom the second before Catra rounds the corner. The shorter clone gasps, his eyes blown wide as he pretends to dust. The taller one pulls his lips back in a smile that shows too much teeth, an ugly green like his eyes. He bows reluctantly, as is proper. He doesn’t pretend to have been busy at all.

“Captain.”

“C-captain!” His brother bobs with a jerky bow, a fist over his heart, before he pops back up to continue dusting the displays lining the ship hall.

Catra smiles disarmingly, hands clasped behind her back. Her claws prick her palms. “I’d be careful about what I said around the queen’s quarters if I were you.” She steps around the maids with a glance over her shoulder, and her own flash of teeth. “You never know who might be listening.”

The tall one’s smile slips, curving into a frown. “We meant no offense.”

Catra pauses, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “I hope not. I’d _ hate _ to have to flush out the staff-_again-_especially after what Horde Prime had to do with the last bunch. Maybe he really should reconsider using androids.”

The shorter clone gasps, dusting a vase too hard. It tilts, but Catra’s reflexes are quick.

“Whoops.” She pushes it back onto its base with a claw. “We wouldn’t want any accidents.”

They stare after her as she glides past, her grin sharp. She nods to the clone guards in front of the gleaming, ceiling to floor metal doors at the end of the twisting hall.

“Captain,” they greet in unison, and go back to staring at the wall. Catra huffs, hooking her hands behind her back when they don’t move.

“What are you waiting for? An invitation? _ Announce _me.”

"Captain." They salute, and one of the guards presses a hand over a pad on the wall. “Announcing Force Captain Catra, Your Majesty.”

A second later, a voice chimes, “let her in.”

The doors hiss open. Catra steps nimbly into a large, oval room, bright as a pearl and draped in silks. Attendants hover over the girl perched on the edge of a curved chaise lounge as pale as the room, and immediately part from her when she rises. Glimmer stands too quickly, breaking her composure, and for a second too long, her mask cracks. Catra’s doesn’t.

Glimmer’s mouth twitches, a little curl at the corner meant just for Catra, before she looks down, frowning. When she looks up, her mask is back in place, smooth and irritated, but her eyes don’t lose their glitter. Catra bows, a fist to her chest, her heart beating hard beneath it, as if it’s the only thing keeping it there.

“Your Majesty.”

“Captain.” Glimmer allows an attendant to drape a sheer shawl that glitters like stars over her shoulders. Catra's eyes drag over it, her lip curling. She hates it. The pastel silks. The white oval room. The silvery pool at the center. The soft, lilting music that never stops playing. The Imperial style, high-collar white gowns Glimmer has been given to wear, a green jewel gleaming at her throat.

She makes a glamorous hostage.

“I didn’t know you were back. Congratulations on your victory.”

Catra resists the urge to roll her eyes, and sweeps her gaze over the jewel resting at Glimmer's throat, the curve of her hips beneath her pearly white gown. Catra grunts, warmth pooling low in her belly, wishing Glimmer would send her attendants back to their holes.

“As much fun as it would have been to come here just to hear your praises, Your _Majesty_, I’m here to deliver a message from Brightmoon’s King Regent.”

Glimmer’s eyes widen, and she signals her staff. Finally. Catra doesn't bother to hide her smirk when they scurry like mice, all except for Horde Prime’s courier, who reluctantly pushes himself out into the hall when Catra raises a brow. A bow and a curt, “Your Majesty. Force Captain," later, he's gone.

Catra growls the second the door hisses shut, stalking forward. Glimmer’s eyes are wide.

“What did my dad say?” 

Catra shrugs, enjoying the splash of pink rising high on Glimmer's cheeks. She traces the wave of her hips with her claws before pulling Glimmer close. “The usual. He misses you. I’ll give you the holograph-"

"What about the rebels?"

Catra stiffens. Glimmer doesn't have to say, _and Adora? _A shiver crawls up her spine. Some nights, when she lets the selfish part of her claw its way out from the dark corners of Catra's thoughts-when she's tired and wrapping a wound after a campaign, when Glimmer's asleep in her arms and her glamorous prison, the tower curving out like a branch from Prime's mother ship, grows dark around them-she wishes Glimmer would stop _waiting_. That Adora won't come at all. A pit forms in her gut, cold and heavy. It scares her-to imagine what will happen when Adora _does_ reach Horde Prime. She likes to imagine stealing a ship when it happens, grabbing Glimmer by the hand, and leaving the world behind, just the two of them. She's lost twice already. She'll be damned if she loses again. Catra frowns, a flash of irritation flaring through her chest. She shoves the thought down hard.

"Does it matter? We're still here."

She reaches forward to rip Glimmer’s collar open with a claw. The jewel clatters to the floor, and a noise pushes its way up Glimmer’s throat, her lips quirked.

“You didn't have to do that.”

Catra growls. “You look like an Empire doll.”

Glimmer grimaces. “And what about you?” She runs her hands over Catra’s shoulder plates before her mouth sets in a hard, grim line. Her touch is biting and too hard as she makes quick work of Catra’s Empire armor, until it’s gone from the waist up, and Catra is left in a sleek black undersuit. Glimmer’s eyes are hooded when she steps back to look, her lips parted, but there's an angry flush to her cheeks.

“You look like-like-”

Catra raises an eyebrow. “Don’t hurt yourself, Sparkles.” She grins when Glimmer’s blush deepens, distracted. She wants to rip away the bodice of that dress, watch Glimmer's blush slip down her throat and splash across her chest, the small swell of her breasts. Glimmer's fists clench.

“Ugh! You look like one of Prime’s puppets and I _ hate _ it! I wish-I wish you would just-” The zipper is unnaturally loud, a long _ rip _ when Glimmer tugs it down, and Catra licks her lips when cool air whispers past the naked space between her breasts. She yanks Glimmer forward by the hips, huffing a laugh when she yelps. Her hair tickles Catra’s nose when she nuzzles close.

They stand like that for two seconds too long, eyes closed, listening to each other breathe.

Catra breathes in deep, closing her eyes. Glimmer’s scent sits comfortingly on her tongue; her perfume is light with a tang of citrus, and it accents Glimmer's natural scent well. It makes Catra want to drop to the bed together and never let go, until Glimmer soothes those dark parts of her like a balm. It makes her want to touch and pull and _ bite _until Glimmer is beneath her, making those breathy little gasps she loves so much.

She cards her fingers through Glimmer’s hair instead, lightly grasping at the base of her neck, smiling when Glimmer shivers and tilts her head to the side with a little sigh. Catra leans in, brushing her cheek over Glimmer’s, trailing her nose down to the hollow of her throat. She can taste the salt of Glimmer’s skin as presses a kiss just below her ear, the wild part of her smug and satisfied when Glimmer's sweetness is finally spiced with her own scent. Scent doesn’t matter here on Horde Prime's ship. Glimmer can’t smell the way Catra can, will never preen with pride over bearing Catra's scent, her _mark. _Glimmer hasn't asked what she's doing when she nuzzles close (and maybe she never will), and no one on Horde Prime’s sterile ship will ever notice it either.

But that’s what makes it exciting.

Glimmer is _hers, _and only Catra knows.

Her heart pumps hard when her lips brush over the shell of Glimmer's ear. “Wish I would _ what?” _

Adora, the war, what comes after, Glimmer's pretty prison-none of it exists when Catra’s lips finally glide over hers, and Glimmer gives up trying to say anything at all. 

  
  



End file.
